dream of the white rabbit

not just any colour
but all shades spun

to perfect chaos
or his albino hide.

eyes red-rimmed, body
quivering, and the watch

ticking the terror closer.




dream of the march hare

now he knows what rancid
means. the butter in the guts
of his pocketwatch makes time stick

instead of zip by quicker
and stinks the air. he's sick
of biscuits. even if he swallows

the last bit of his tea
he can't be excused.




dream of the caterpillar

he dreams the only dream--
just-hatched wings

stuck shut and ashy brown, and no
mushroom cap to hide him

from all that far-off air,
the starling's wide beak.




dream of the mouse

no cat got his tail, it was his own teeth
that bit, dreaming of attack.

now he drags the fear
behind him, a long and sad tale.

he cannot sleep for the hiss
of his breath and for who he'll become

out of the corner of his eye.